


A Moment of Weakness

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Series: FitzSimmons high school teacher/fake dating AU [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: #AU, #evil high school girls, #fake dating trope, #fluff, #hot neighbour, #romance, #teacher Jemma, #these things happen, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-17 08:43:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons, exhausted first-year-out high school Science teacher, has a weak moment when asked by a catty student if she has a boyfriend. Not only does she answer in the affirmative, she names him – Leo Fitz. But despite her daydreams, gorgeous Leo Fitz is no more to her than her friendly downstairs neighbour.</p><p>Cue the AU fluffy fake-dating trope that no FitzSimmons shipper can get enough of.</p><p>Prompted by Lavendergaia’s inspiring rant about fic summaries on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

Jemma had heard the words tumbling out of her mouth with as much power to stop them as she had to declare herself the star in a Hermione spin-off film trilogy.

Really, it was bloody Rebecca’s fault for being obnoxious enough to ask the question in the first place. And though she was an independent, intelligent, capable and self-reliant woman, in the moment she found herself weak.

Why she felt losing face in catty Rebecca’s eyes would be such a problem was something to dwell on for another time. But her first year of teaching Science _had_ been exhausting, her take-out expenditure almost exceeded her rent and it did kind of suck not to have someone with intelligent and expressive blue eyes in her life. On top of everything else it was last period on a Friday; every teacher across the country’s defences were low.

“What’s his name then?” the little minx had dared as a follow-up.

And as if her mouth had peacefully seceded from her brain, she heard herself announce, “Leo. Leo Fitz.”

“What does this _Leo_ do for work?” It was practically a dare.

Rebecca need to be stopped. Perhaps even shot.

Jemma mentally scrambled about for an abort lever, an ejector seat, a self-destruct button but all she could come up with was the truth. “He’s an engineer.”

“So you’re bringing him to our graduation dinner next week?”

Her subconscious suddenly deployed a pre-assembled rent-a-crowd of voices, all shouting sound life guidance: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, JEMMA. _STOP!_

“ _Of course_ ,” Jemma replied with a winning smile – the sort of smile she imagined she would smile if that gorgeous engineer Leo Fitz was anything more to her than her friendly downstairs neighbour.

“Now, back to work.”

She thought she caught a glimpse of Rebecca exchanging disbelieving glances with the equally unpleasant Nicole.

Oh, God, this was going to be awful. But she _couldn’t_ let them win.

.

Even though her watch showed her favourite time of day rapidly approaching, the blob of dread in her stomach continued to lurch and shudder with every sudden brake and turn of the bus.

The neon sign announcing _Advanced Souvlaki_ that always seemed to herald his appearance shone bright in the early evening gloom. As had become her habit, she eagerly scanned the street for cyclists.

She spotted him, but he wasn’t peddling along with his usual accustomed ease. Rather, he was up on the sidewalk, perched on his bike seat, one shoulder leaning nonchalantly against the wall. His curls caught the light of the street lamp above giving them an almost celestial glow. The straps of his backpack pulled the fabric of his pale blue shirt taught across his chest, revealing the definition of his wiry build. He scratched absent-mindedly at the scruff on his cheek, looking for all the world like he was playing a game on his phone.

Surprised by this unusual sight, Jemma turned her head to stare.

At what she presumed was the deafening noise of the old municipality bus, Fitz’s head snapped up. He shoved his phone in his pocket and started peddling furiously.

Jemma turned to face forward again, not wanting him to catch her staring. Things between them were about to get well and truly awkward enough.

As if ordained by a Japanese transport schedule, Jemma stepped off the bus at precisely the moment Fitz pedalled past her stop. As had become his habit, which certainly bore no small responsibility for the growing intensity of her daydreams and probably led to today’s _faux pas_ , he hopped off his bike to wait for her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Fitz crowed, as if he didn’t see her at precisely this spot and precisely this time every day.

“What are the odds?” Jemma laughed, harnessing her qi for what was possibly going to be the most excruciating moment of her life.

Fitz chuckled to himself as he chained up his bike. “Oh,” he called over his shoulder. “I have some more of your _Scientific American_ s and _Science Teacher Association Journal_ s in my flat.”

“And I have one of your _Mechanical Engineering_ magazines and an _Aviation Week_ in mine.” She unlocked the door and held it open for him as he jogged up the steps behind her. “What is going on with that postie?”

“I have no idea,” he laughed, his accent echoing delightfully in the tiled foyer. “I mean, a two and a seven might be a forgivable mix-up, or a three and an eight, but it’s pretty hard to mistake a nine for a ten.”

“Especially when they’re always such clearly printed labels,” Jemma replied as they climbed up their old building’s central staircase side-by-side.

“Put on the kettle for me and I’ll bring them up to yours, then?” he suggested casually, the electric blue of his eyes somehow intensified under the flickering fluorescent light.

Under normal circumstances her heart would be hammering with excitement but the weight of the favour she had to ask him made her certain their budding friendship was about to draw to a swift close.

“Sure,” she sighed, seeing no chance to postpone the inevitable.

His face fell. “I mean, only if you’re not too tired. I can just drop them off and go.”

“No!” she replied, a little too loudly. “No, Fitz. Please do come up and have tea. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

She could feel the tsunami of red rushing over her throat. “I have an extremely awkward favour to ask you.”

Fitz’s grin returned in force. “Doing extremely awkward favours for people is my absolute favourite activity.”

Jemma shook her head, laughing in spite of herself as she trudged up the stairs to her floor leaving him on his landing. “Mmm, just wait til you hear it.”

“I’ll grab the journals and be up in five,” he called over the jangle of his keys.

Jemma slammed her front door closed and slumped against it, unceremoniously dropping her heavy bag full of books to correct on the floor. She thumped the back of her head against the door a few times before finally pushing herself off it to check for visible underwear or mouldering Thai food.

Certain the coast was clear she kicked off her pointy flats and padded into the galley kitchen to flick on the kettle and rinse the morning’s tea leaves out of the pot. Setting a fresh pot on the trivet and covering it with her Gran’s crocheted tea cosy to brew, she nipped to the bathroom to check that she didn’t have half her lunch-time tabouli still stuck between her teeth.

Jemma glared at herself in the mirror, toothbrush in one hand and roughly tugged the elastic out of her professional-looking teacher’s bun, letting her curls tumble over her shoulders. Before she even had a chance to think about what to do with it she heard a knock at the door. She only had time to rinse, spit and drag a towel over her mouth.

_This will have to do._

.

Opening her front door to Leo Fitz who held scientific journals in one hand, balanced half a chocolate cake in the other and smiled like the sun, would never get old.

“Your place looks exactly like mine,” Fitz observed as she stood aside to let him in. “Except, you know, yours looks like a human might actually survive in it.”

Jemma laughed. “You’ve only been in your flat three months!”

“Oh, trust me,” Fitz sighed. “I can scum up a place pretty fast.” He held out his large, well-shaped hands to show her the grease marks that stained his long fingers. “I’m always tinkering with something or other.”

Jemma suddenly felt the pressing need to open a window. “You can pour the tea if you like,” she called over her shoulder, surreptitiously fanning at her face.

“You’ll eat some of this cake with me, won’t you?” Fitz asked, deftly filling the two cups Jemma had left warming.

She narrowed her eyes as she walked back towards him. “Did you make it?”

“God, no,” he chuckled. “I’d never dare offer you something I made. My mum visited last weekend. She baked it for me. As I live and breathe, my mum is the world’s best cook. You’ll be quite safe.”

“Alright then,” she nodded, mentally noting that the man loved his mother. “But only if I can have an absolutely enormous slice.”

Fitz beamed at her and exaggeratedly slid the knife from where he had it poised to cut a sliver to an angle that encompassed most of the remaining cake.

“Well,” she sighed begrudgingly. “I suppose we could just go halves.”

“Finally,” he chuckled. “A woman who knows how to eat!”

“It’s hard sometimes,” Jemma replied, “Trying to subsist on cake alone. But I’m making a good go of it and I think it’s really paying dividends in embarrassing mid-morning sugar-highs and all-encompassing mid-afternoon slumps.”

Fitz carried the two plates of cake and the tea pot to the lounge with Jemma on his heels balancing their two cups and the milk jug. He plonked himself down, turning his whole body to face her as she sank into the lounge next to him and handed him his cup.

“So,” he said, carefully taking it from her. “Tell me about this favour.”

Jemma shook her head. “Let me fortify myself with cake first. Tell me about your day for a minute instead.”

Fitz took a thoughtful sip of his tea. “Well, turns out I don’t hate my new boss as much as I first thought.”

Jemma tried her best to convey interest with her eyebrows while her mouth was crammed with cake and Fitz’s ready laugh sounded again. She couldn’t have explained it even if pressed but she was certain that he was laughing with her rather than at her. It was a heady rush to find herself being so appreciated by such keen blue eyes.

When every last crumb of the cake was gone, Jemma was left with no more excuses.

“C’mon, Jemma,” Fitz urged at last, refilling her cup. “I’m in suspense. What did you want to ask me?”

Jemma curled herself into a protective ball and dropped her head onto her knees. “Oh, Fitz, I am so embarrassed,” she moaned.

“Want me to tell you something embarrassing first?” he offered. “Share the pain?”

She raised her head about an inch from its resting place, interest piqued.

“At this conference in Munich last year, I tripped on the steps leading up to the dais and began my presentation prostrate on the stage.”

She raised her head fully now, keenly feeling that embarrassment. “No…” she breathed.

“Oh, yes,” he nodded.

“Did you manage to pull yourself together?”

He laughed. “I did but I don’t know how. Maybe the mild concussion helped me overcome my nerves.”

She giggled along with him until he fixed her with a pointed look.

“Alright,” he said. “Now it’s your turn. Out with it.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighed. “This year has been so intense. I mean, I love my job, I love my students. Well, most of them,” she added darkly. “And I just want to be taken seriously and respected, you know? I want to feel more confident, more established.”

“Sounds like everyone who started a job ever,” Fitz nodded along in sympathy. “But what does this have to do with me? I’m willing to try but I doubt I’ll be much help with your lesson plans.”

Her laugh was no more than a quick breath out her nose. “I let them goad me, Fitz,” she sighed.

“Let who goad you?”

“Rebecca Crawford and Nicole Marquez.”

“These are colleagues of yours?”

Jemma shook her head. “If only.”

The light of realisation dawned in Fitz’s eyes. “They’re students aren’t they.”

She nodded, shame-faced. “And they asked me if I had a boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

She raised her head boldly, her voice suddenly firm. “And I know better than most that one doesn’t need a boyfriend to be complete or fulfilled. I love being independent and self-reliant. I love my career and I don’t…”

“Need no man?” Fitz interjected, his eyes twinkling.

She elbowed him in exasperation. “Exactly. I don’t need no man.” She laughed in spite of herself.

“And yet, here I am,” he observed, clearly amused. “A man, if I’m not much mistaken. And I’ve been lured here because you have a favour to ask me. So, perhaps you actually _do_ need a man. Am I right?”

Gazing back at his ginger stubble, his structured cheek-bones, his broad shoulders and those blue, blue eyes, Jemma only just stopped herself from whispering a plaintive _Yes_.

“I may have, in a weak moment,” she began tentatively, “Accidentally answered in the affirmative.”

Fitz held up his hands. “Hang on, hang on, Simmons. Let me catch up here.”

Jemma dropped her head back into her hands. He was enjoying this a little too much.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Correct,” came her muffled reply.

“But you told these two students that you did.”

She nodded into her knees.

“Intriguing.”

“It gets worse,” Jemma groaned. “They asked me his name.”

“Oh? And what did you tell them?” Fitz’s voice was laced with amusement. Now maybe he _was_ laughing at her.

She raised her head and gave him a pointed look.

“What?” He was the very picture of innocence.

Jemma raised her eyebrows even higher and nodded in his direction.

“Are you alright, Simmons?” he asked with mock concern. Yes, he was _definitely_ laughing at her.

“I gave them _your_ name, alright!?” she exploded. “They asked me for my boyfriend’s name and I told them his name was Leo Fitz.”

“Well…”

“Well, what?” Jemma insisted, unsure if she was more annoyed at herself or at him.

“That was an interesting choice of answer,” was all he replied.

“Look, yours was the first name that came to mind,” she tried to explain. “I see you every single day.” _And dream about you every single night._ Though perhaps that would be coming to an end now that he was turning out to be such a smug pain in the neck.

“Alright, Simmons,” he laughed. “Thank you for confessing, but I don’t think there’s any real harm done. So what if a couple of kids think you have a boyfriend with the same name as me?”

“It’s just… Well, they didn’t seem to believe me.”

“Your lie, you mean,” Fitz chuckled.

“That’s right,” Jemma replied between her teeth. “And so when they asked if I’d be bringing my boyfriend to their graduation dinner next Friday night…”

“Ahhh,” Fitz nodded in understanding. “You told them you would.”

She nodded sheepishly.

“So, let me guess. The favour you want to ask me is that I go along to a school function next Friday with you and pose as your boyfriend.”

“Yes.”

“Right.”

There was a long pause.

“Right, what?” Jemma finally asked.

“What?”

Ugh. He was infuriating. Much less attractive. Well, not _that_ much less.

“So are you going to do it?” she demanded. “Or did you just let me unfold this whole mortifying tale for nothing.”

Fitz grinned. “As it happens, I’m pretty free next Friday night.”

She tensed everything to get out the question she hoped she already knew the answer to. “And your girlfriend won’t mind?”

He feigned offense. “I’ll have you know that one doesn’t need a girlfriend to be complete or fulfilled. I love being independent and self-reliant. I love my career…”

Jemma let out a long breath. “Shut up.”

Fitz laughed. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along.”

 “Thank you.”

“But I can see one gaping flaw in your scheme.”

She arched one eyebrow at him. “Oh, yes?”

Fitz shrugged. “I don’t think we can pull it off.”

“What?” she asked. “Why?”

“Well, aren’t these students of yours going to be watching you like a hawk? How are we going to convince them we’re really together? We’ve only known each other a few months. This is the first time I’ve even been inside your flat.”

Jemma hadn’t thought about the need to be convincing. “What do you think we should do?”

“Well,” Fitz mused. “Maybe we should practice this weekend.”

“Practice?”

“We should start tonight. Let’s go out somewhere and pretend to be a couple.”

Jemma looked at him sceptically. Fitz’s idea sounded simultaneously wonderful and horrible.

“Better that than being found out by this nasty little piece of work, wouldn’t you say?” he shrugged.

For one fleeting moment, Jemma pictured the triumphant faces of Rebecca and Nicole if they uncovered her lie.

“Absolutely,” she breathed.

Fitz startled her by suddenly getting to his feet.

“Alright, then m’lady,” he smiled down at her. “I’m going back down to mine to have a shower and get changed for our date. Pick you up in half an hour?”

Jemma found herself jumping up to look at the clock. Six thirty.

“Umm, okay.” She couldn’t quite work out why she found herself smiling shyly back at him. “Where are we going? You know, just so I know what to wear.”

Fitz surprised her by gently placing his hands on her shoulders. She gasped at his touch.

“Not telling,” he grinned. “But wear that green dress. You know, the one with the spring flowers.”

Jemma looked back at him confused. How long had Fitz been paying such close attention to what she wore?

He grabbed up his cake plate and the pile of his journals she’d collected for him and headed for the front door to let himself out. Suddenly he turned his blue eyes back on her, his hand resting on the door knob. The grin Fitz gave her seriously needed to be restricted by federal law.

“And wear shoes you can dance in, okay?”

“Okay,” Jemma breathed, unable to hide her dazed smile.

“See you soon,” he called, pulling the door behind him.


	2. Part Two

Where is the handbook for how best to spend the half-hour before the man you secretly harbour genuine feelings for pretends to be your boyfriend and picks you up for a pretend date? Jemma could have really used its advice for the first seven minutes in which she merely flapped about, not really achieving much at all.

After that, her natural efficiency kicked in and she more or less morphed into _The Flash_ on a caffeine-high as captured by time-lapse camera.

Jemma swung the door open half-an-hour later in her green heels and the green floral dress that Fitz had specifically _and intriguingly_ requested. Her freshly washed hair hung in loose curls over her shoulders and her make-up was light and playful.

She was impressed by the authenticity of his wide eyes and slack jaw as he looked her up and down. He was looking extremely dapper himself in a navy blue suit and white shirt, his skinny brown belt matching his pointy brown leather dress shoes.

 _Even better than the real thing,_ she sighed internally.

He suddenly shoved a bunch of flowers at her, almost as if he’d momentarily forgotten he had them hidden behind his back.

“Fitz! When on earth did you find the time to get these?” she cried, lifting the plump candy-pink peonies to her nose. She walked back into the apartment to unearth a vase for them and when she turned round, found him still gaping at her from the doorway.

“You _can_ come in you know,” she laughed. “Especially seeing as you brought me flowers.”

“Err, right,” he replied, stepping over the threshold and rubbing at the back of his neck. He seemed to have lost his playful flippancy from earlier. “Or, well, what if we just go?” he blurted. “I made reservations.”

Jemma grabbed her purse and sidled up to him, placing a quick kiss on his rough cheek. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said quietly into his ear. “They’re lovely. You’ve only been here three minutes and already you’ve exceeded the best efforts of my scant collection of real boyfriends.”

“Actually,” he almost whispered, “I was sort of, umm, thinking, if I really _were_ your boyfriend, I’d probably, umm, kiss you, you know, for real, when I came to pick you up for a date.”

Jemma grinned into his shoulder. She had not for a moment anticipated Fitz taking his fake boyfriend responsibilities this seriously. And she _had_ spent a lot of time wondering what those lips of his would feel like against hers.

“I guess you’re right,” she whispered back.

He pulled back a little to catch her eye. “Umm, have at it then?”

Jemma’s laugh escaped her before she saw it coming. “ _Have at it_?” she repeated incredulously. “Are we kissing or jousting?”

Fitz’s expression shifted quickly to amusement via… was it hurt?

“Jousting does look fun,” he observed drily, looking slightly more like the relaxed Fitz of earlier for the first time since she’d opened the door. “But I’m guessing your students would find kissing more convincing.”

Jemma rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “I _guess_ so.” Rebecca Crawford and Nicole Marquez were rapidly making the transition from her least to her most favourite pupils. She let her weight shift towards him.

Fitz took a step forward, his chest now only an inch from hers. She tilted her face to look up at him through her lashes. His nervous earnestness seemed to be back in force, pulsing in time with the exhilaration she felt sure she was exuding in waves.

“So, um…” he murmured. “Here goes.”

Fitz dusted his fingertips lightly along her cheekbone as he stepped right into her personal space, one of his brown brogues anchoring itself between her feet. She heard a pathetic sort of whimper but could only hope it hadn’t escaped from her.

His eyes found hers for a moment – _an eternity?_ – and seemed to convey depths that far exceeded the terms of their casual arrangement.

Jemma could barely breathe.

Fitz’s thumb brushed over her lips, his fingertips burying themselves in her hair. He moved forward to gently press his lips to hers. The softness of his mouth contrasted by the firm and almost hungry resolve with which he kissed her, rendered her whole form warm and pliable, melting her against the crisp lines of his fly blue suit. _How did a man learn to kiss like that?_

After the tender sweetness of that initial first contact, something more urgent took over and Jemma could no longer tell if she’d taken the lead or surrendered. All she knew was that it left her gasping, clinging to the potential inherent in the ruse they’d established. If he believed a boyfriend should _greet_ her with a kiss like this, she couldn’t wait to see what their _goodnight_ would be like.

And that’s when it occurred to her that Fitz was no longer holding her and that she was just standing there, eyes closed, breathing heavily, a dazed smile playing on her lips. She cracked one eye and found him leaning against the counter grinning at her.

“Alright?” he asked airily, his blue eyes maddening.

She contemplated grabbing him again and kissing that smug smile right off his face but she thought that might give her ulterior motive away. Instead, she let herself read far too much into the white tightness of his knuckles where they gripped the edge of the bench. She indulged her desire to overanalyse the heaving of his chest and the spots of pink high on his cheeks, telling herself they belied his otherwise cool composure.

“You’ll do, I suppose,” she shrugged and his grin broadened.

“Shall we go, then, m’lady?” he asked, offering his elbow.

“Yes, let’s,” Jemma replied, recovering her composure enough to slip her arm through his.

Stepping out onto the street in front of their apartment block, Fitz turned to pull the door behind them and then took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

The force of the thrill she felt walking down the street with Fitz holding her hand was almost embarrassing. She’d had some stormy crushes in high school but somehow at twenty-three, this hurricane crush on her neighbour, aided and abetted by their dating deception, was brewing into a full-blown natural disaster.

“So when do I get to find out where you’re taking me?” Jemma asked, hoping that asking a question gave her a free pass to ogle his profile for a while.

Fitz glanced at her, his lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Actually,” he replied conspiratorially, “I made a phone call or two and managed to swing something kind of amazing.”

“Do tell,” she urged.

“You know how I live in the flat underneath you?”

Jemma rolled her eyes.

“Well, it’s become kind of apparent to those of us on the third floor that our upstairs neighbour quite likes Gregory Porter.”

“Who doesn’t?” Jemma sighed. “That man’s voice is amazing.”

“He’s playing tonight. At the night club inside the Howard Theatre. And I got us a table.”

Jemma stopped walking. “Fitz.”

“What?”

She wanted to tell him that she had never gone on a real date with a man who was even half as thoughtful as he was. That no one before had ever brought her flowers, let alone the romantic variety she yearningly pinned on Pinterest. That no one before had been able to tell one of her outfits from the other. That she had never before been kissed so soundly that it hit her nervous system like a searing summer.

She settled for “That must have cost a fortune.”

Fitz shrugged. “You’ll love it though, right?”

Jemma nodded repeatedly, eyes wide.

He beamed back at her. “So it’ll be fun. We’ll have a great time.”

“Yes, but Fitz, this _is_ only a fake date, remember?” _Ugh! Jemma!_ Wasn’t it bad enough that she kept reminding herself?

He rubbed the back of his neck again. “You should see what I can pull out of the woodwork when I take a girl out for real,” he laughed nervously.

“Fitz, you’re the one doing _me_ a favour. If anyone’s spending a fortune tonight, it should be me!”

He cocked his head to one side, the cheeky grin restored. “I might be persuaded to let you buy me _one_ drink.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do I have to give you the independent, self-reliant woman speech again?”

Fitz laughed. “Look, Jemma. What if I just got kind of excited about the idea of dressing up and taking a beautiful girl out dancing?”

Her complaining sputtered to a halt. “Beautiful?” she repeated under her breath, feeling the heat in her cheeks.

He stepped back and looked her up and down again, his smirk belying the objectivity he was clearly trying to convey. “Mmm, yep.” He nodded thoughtfully. “ Yep, beautiful. That’s my final word.”

He reached out his hand for her and she took it shyly, the nerves in her fingers tingling as they tangled together with his. He used the connection to pull her close, releasing her hand and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Had she felt more confident of the arrangement between them, she would have angled her face for another of those sweet/scorching kisses that she couldn’t stop thinking about. He’d initiated the first round fairly enthusiastically and he _had_ just called her beautiful. But before she could make her move, Fitz was telling her something, and it sounded serious.

“Now, I need to warn you about a friend of mine you’re going to meet tonight,” he said as they walked along, his arm warm across her back. “Not to bring down the mood, but it’s kind of a sad story.”

Jemma mentally waved away the bluebirds that had been merrily lifting the hem of her dress and attempted to sober down and concentrate.

“His name is Trip,” Fitz began, “And he’s the friend that got us the tickets at such late notice.”

“He works at the Howard?” Jemma asked.

“Yeah, but he’s not going to be working tonight, we’re actually sharing the table with him and whoever he brings. His girlfriend, Skye, is out of town for work.”

“Why is it such a sad story?” she prompted.

“He’s had a pretty intense few years,” Fitz replied forlornly, shaking his head. “He’s just not the same guy he used to be. It’s a heady combination – the music and hospitality industry. Late nights, huge parties, all those celebrities…”

“Oh, dear,” Jemma replied. “Is he very badly knocked about?”

“Not to look at,” Fitz said. “But it’s his mind. Especially his memory.”

“How _aw_ ful. Was it drugs? Head trauma?”

Fitz waved his hand vaguely. Was he gulping back emotion? “Yeah, all that sort of thing. So just be aware that he might start spouting all sorts of nonsense. Some of the things he’ll say will be completely lucid, others will be just a mixture of old memories and fantasy.”

“Oh,” Jemma squeaked. “What a tragedy!”

“He’s still a lovely guy,” Fitz assured her. “And we’ve been mates a long time, so of course, nothing’s changed in our relationship.”

Jemma’s heart warmed at Fitz’s compassion. “That’s very noble of you, to maintain such a close friendship with him even though he’s so damaged.”

She glanced over at Fitz to find him looking a little tortured. She squeezed his arm supportively.

“Anyway, the main point is, just be prepared for him to say some things that make no sense at all. You know, to think he knows all about you when he doesn’t or to assume things about our relationship that are just completely untrue.”

“It’s amazing that he holds down a responsible job like that _and_ a serious relationship when he has such significant struggles,” Jemma wondered.

“Yea… umm, yeah, I guess,” Fitz sighed. Another surreptitious glance at his face suggested that this was a lot harder for him than he was making out. He looked almost as though he felt guilty to be talking about his pal behind his back.

“Well, I can’t wait to meet him,” Jemma said brightly. “It’ll be nice to meet some of your friends.”

“You’d love Skye,” Fitz added. “She’s a lot of fun. Maybe you’ll meet her too one day.”

She laughed sadly. “Don’t worry, Fitz. I won’t let this fake-dating thing drag on too long.” _Jemma! Again!?_

His laugh sounded sort of sad too, or did she imagine it? “Well, you never know, maybe you’ll run into them on the stairs one day if they’re coming over to mine.”

“If you actually decide your place is safe for visitors?” she needled.

“What are the odds of you returning the favour and playing the part of my fake cleaner?” Fitz asked, the twinkle back in his eye now that they’d left the trauma of his friend’s tragic tale.

“Slim to none,” she retorted.

“Harsh, Simmons!” Fitz replied, hand over his heart.

“I’ll be your fake landlord and you can pay me your rent?” she offered. “I’ll be your fake postie and actually manage to get our journals in the right mailbox? Or how about I be your fake personal shopper? While I’m _pretending_ to be shopping for you I can finally get that whole new wardrobe I’ve been promising myself.”

“Only if you promise to hold onto that dress,” he replied, his smile shy.

Jemma went to ask, thought better of it, and then just plunged ahead regardless. “How did you even know about this dress anyway?”

Fitz shrugged, his attention on something in the park off to their left. “I just looked out my window and saw you coming home in it one night a few weeks ago. You looked, umm, nice. Really nice. I guess it kind of just stuck in my head.”

Jemma’s footsteps faltered. That didn’t _sound_ like the confession of a completely disinterested third party.

“It’s my favourite,” she whispered, her face flushed with pleasure.

Fitz turned back to face her. “Mine too,” he whispered back.

Jemma thought she might dissolve if Fitz kept that gaze on her much longer. Did he have any idea what he was doing? Surely he must have realised that his name didn’t just come to her out of the blue when those students backed her into a corner.

As if he suddenly realised they’d come to a halt in the middle of a moderately bustling urban footpath, Fitz stepped backwards onto the grass pulling her a few steps into the park with him. She followed eagerly.

“You know, we should probably, umm, get in some practice at kissing in public if we’re going to be able to kiss for an audience next week,” he suggested, in a tone that could just as easily have been applied to a sentence like _We’re going to need some more milk if anyone wants to eat cereal in the morning._

The man made a good point, and who was she to argue?

As it happened, she was in no position to raise objections even if she’d wanted to, her mouth effectively stoppered by his. His arms wound themselves low around her hips as she slid her hands over his chest and up around his neck, pulling herself up onto her tiptoes to meet his lips with fervour.

Funny that he’d suggested this public kissing practice in the name of impressing her students. Jemma already knew exactly what they’d say, and the precise tone in which they’d say it, if they saw her and Fitz exchange so much as a glance across the no doubt sub-par buffet.

_Ugh! Get a room!_

But there was no need to tell Fitz that just yet. Not when he was proving so eager to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit surprised by the massive enthusiasm for the first chapter of this! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of the nice things you said! 
> 
> Here's hoping Part II is up to scratch - and this HAS morphed into an at-least-three-part thing so there'll be more coming soon.
> 
> Love, love, love to hear what you think!!!


	3. Part Three

Fitz’s willingness to perfect their public displays of fake affection seemed to be curtailed only by his desire to actually get them where they were going.

While Jemma found herself suspended in a weightless, timeless vortex of desire and gratification, Fitz raised the arm that wasn’t pulling her close, glanced at his watch, yelped against her lips and hailed them a cab.

She managed to fleetingly wonder when she’d become the type of woman who accepted a flimsy pretext to hungrily make-out with an acquaintance in the back of a taxi, but then he started kissing his way down the column of her throat and her brain completely short-circuited.

Neither of them knew how long the cab had been parked nor how many times the driver had emphatically cleared his throat before they worked out that they’d reached their destination. Jemma triumphantly beat Fitz in pulling herself together and managing to pay while he was still left blinking rapidly and fumbling for his wallet.

“Lucky I’m not traditional about my fake dates,” Fitz chuckled, clambering out of the car first and turning to offer her his hand.

She smiled as she let him help her out of the car but his playful words lodged themselves painfully in the centre of her chest like heartburn. For far too many blissful moments, she’d let herself forget that he was only here because of the world’s most awkward favour. She nervously smoothed her dress over her thighs with her free hand, following silently as Fitz led her into the theatre.

The attractive bouncer on the door greeted Fitz with an enthusiasm he did not return, yanking Jemma past at a significant pace. She smiled politely as they sped past him.

“The big night at last, hey Fitz?” the bouncer called after them.

“Bye, Ward,” Fitz muttered in return.

“What was all that about?” Jemma asked, when they finally joined the queue at the nightclub rope-line.

He shook his head. “Ward’s kind of like a sociopath. We all just keep our distance.”

“I wonder what he meant about ‘the big night at last’?” she mused.

Fitz waved it away, though Jemma couldn’t help noticing that he didn’t quite meet her eye until someone was calling to them through the crowd.

An extremely good-looking man was making his way towards them.

“Trip,” Fitz whispered by way of explanation. “Remember what I told you, ok?”

“Of course,” Jemma whispered back.

“My man!” Trip boomed and entangled Fitz in some sort of handshake/hug that looked at least three times too cool for him. “I knew you could do it! Skye owes me twenty bucks.”

“And you,” Trip said, turning his deep brown eyes on her, “must be _the_ Jemma Simmons.” He stuck out his hand. “Great to finally meet you!”

“Nice to meet you too, Trip,” she replied politely. “Thanks so much for getting us the tickets.”

Trip laughed and led them through the crowd towards their table. “I barely even remember getting those tickets – it was months ago now! Seriously doubted we’d be seeing you tonight. I had a fall-back plan all ready to go. May’s gonna be disappointed, man,” he added to Fitz. “I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.”

“Can’t she come anyway?” Fitz gulped. “Isn’t Skye away on her work trip?”

“Nah, Skye’s last meeting got cancelled and her flight got in early,” Trip replied grinning. “She should be here any minute.”

Jemma was sure she heard Fitz release a choice expletive under his breath as they sat down. She wondered if he’d just remembered something important that he was supposed to have done.

“So, Jemma,” Trip began when they were settled. “Girl, I feel like I know you already.”

She shot Fitz a sympathetic glance and prepared to see Trip’s struggles for herself. “Oh, really? How’s that?”

“I mean, who could blame my man for falling in love with you at first sight?”

Her heart wanted to start hammering but Fitz _had_ warned her about taking anything the man said too seriously.

“I still remember getting that text,” he went on. “Poor Fitz, he’d just finished unpacking his boxes, was just about to go get himself some takeout and then realised you guys were snowed in!”

There was nothing incorrect about those facts, Jemma noted.

“It’s not as if everyone drops off hot minestrone and sourdough toast to welcome their new neighbours,” Trip went on. “So, girl, you must be at least half as amazing as he says you are. And if you _were_ trying to impress Fitz, it definitely worked. Skye and I heard about nothing but the most beautiful girl in the world and her amazing minestrone for ages. We booked these tickets for the four of us that week, the first time he heard your music through the floor.”

Warning or no, now her heart _was_ hammering. She glanced across at Fitz, expecting to see a picture of resigned grief at the nonsense his friend was gabbling. Instead, she rather thought she saw him making _cut it out!_ motions around his collar, his eyes glaring daggers at Trip across the table. Not quite the sympathetic-friend reaction she was anticipating.

Trip just waved him off. “When Fitz’s mom told me that she didn’t even meet you last weekend, despite the fact that her son had talked about almost nothing else in the month leading up to her visit, I guessed he’d probably piked on asking you about tonight. But here you are! So, tell me, when did he finally find his cajones and ask you?”

Jemma opened her mouth and then closed it again when nothing occurred to her to say. She turned to Fitz to find him hiding his head in his hands.

But suddenly Trip was on his feet, a soft smile on his face, and Jemma turned to follow his gaze. A stunning dark-haired woman strode through the crowd which seemed to open up to let her pass through. She threw herself into Trip’s arms and while they enjoyed a passionate reunion, Jemma turned her attention back to Fitz.

“Drink?” Fitz asked, his voice about an octave higher than usual. “What can I get you?” He pushed back his chair and got to his feet.

“I’ll come with you,” she managed to say, her head spinning as she followed him across the nightclub.

“So, that was unnerving,” Jemma began when she took her place next to Fitz at the bar.

“Huh?” Fitz asked, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, unnerving… Totally.”

“I see what you mean by the mixture of memories and fantasy,” she continued. “I mean, some of that was completely true – the day we got snowed in, the minestrone – but the rest of it…”

Fitz laughed nervously.

She swallowed hard. “Imagine you… you know… talking about _me_ like that,” she tried to laugh. “I mean, as if you’d get that excited about some soup.”

“It _was_ good soup, Jemma,” Fitz suddenly insisted, his eyes wide and earnest. “I mean, who knows? Maybe I did mention to him it once… or twice...”

She chuckled nervously. “But you would never have described me as the most beautiful girl in the world,” she said, shaking her head with conviction. “Or told your mum about me…”

Fitz’s expression was unreadable.

“And isn’t it sad that he can’t even remember getting the tickets just this afternoon?” she barrelled on. “I mean, you think he’d retain something so recent. Poor man, I wonder where in time he’s travelled back to with that elaborate story about his friend falling in love with the girl who lives upstairs…”

Was it just her imagination or was Fitz looking positively wretched?

At last the bartender turned her attention to them and Fitz ordered Jemma’s glass of champagne and a beer for himself. She took it and started walking back to the table but Fitz grabbed her hand and pulled her gently back.

He nodded in Trip and Skye’s direction and it was quickly apparent that the two of them hadn’t quite finished saying hello. Maybe that was how you held down a relationship with someone who made no sense? She thought back to the searing kisses she’d shared in the cab with Fitz. Didn’t seem like _such_ a bad hand to be dealt.

As if inspired, Jemma didn’t even realise how hard she was staring at Fitz’s lips until they started moving.

“So, we‘ve covered pick-up-at-your-apartment kisses, out-in-public kisses and inside-a-moving-car kisses,” he observed.

Jemma shrugged, placing her glass back down on the bar. “Maybe we should quickly try live-music-venue kisses? Just to be safe?”

“Mmm,” Fitz agreed, cupping her cheek.

“I mean, what if they bring in some kids playing Vivaldi on violin as background music on Friday night?” she asked, looking earnestly into his amazing eyes.

“Or the barbershop quartet,” he agreed, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her close.

Jemma closed her eyes. Fitz’s lips brushed lightly over hers.

“Or the marching band,” she sighed, and then he rendered her completely unable to think.

So caught up were they in their important preparation that it wasn’t until a few bars into _Painted On Canvas_ and the accompanying whoops and applause from the crowd that Jemma realised Gregory Porter was actually on stage.

“Fiiitz!” she whispered. “It’s him!” And she grabbed her drink and yanked him back towards their table.

With no more than friendly smiles and raised eyebrows, Jemma was cursorily introduced to Skye, and then left to sink into her place and enjoy Fitz’s arm across the back of her chair and the sex-on-toast voice of her idol, whom she loved with a zealous, but purely platonic passion. Those ear flaps were one sartorial step too far…

As the bass player plucked the first few notes of _Liquid Spirit_ , a cheer went up and couples began to get to their feet and make their way onto the floor.

“Dance with me?” Fitz whispered, and with his breath hot against her ear and the driving rhythm of the double bass, she was powerless to resist.

She grinned back at Skye and Trip as she followed Fitz onto the floor and couldn’t help but laugh at the simultaneous winks they gave her, cuddled close to one another around the table.

Their inexpert but enthusiastic shuffling on the dance floor was nothing if not a perfect opportunity to keep him close, to grasp at his lapels, to laugh against his shoulder and gaze into his blue, blue eyes. But after giggling their way through _The In-Crowd_ , _On My Way to Harlem_ and _1960 What?_ , the band changed pace entirely and Jemma found herself being enfolded in Fitz’s arms for her favourite song of all time, _Be Good (Lion’s Song)_.

The only thing, the _only_ thing that could have made the moment better – standing ten paces from Gregory Porter and that voice, swaying slowly in the arms of Leo Fitz – was the slightest inkling that the emotion she saw blazing in Fitz’s eyes was anything other than imaginary.

They applauded and whistled, stamping their feet with the other dancers when the band took a break and then slowly made their way back to the table.

Trip’s beautiful girlfriend pounced on Jemma the moment they sat down.

“Hello, at last!” Skye said, beaming. “I’m already inclined to like you,” she added conspiratorially, “Because look at _Fitz Plus_ here, grinning like an idiot, even if you did cost me twenty bucks by showing up.”

Trip held up his hands. “Girl, you were the one laying the wagers. I just maintained the faith.”

“So,” Skye leaned in. “Was it really only this afternoon that he finally admitted to having wanted to date you forever?”

Trip laughed. “I’m not convinced that Fitz has admitted to anything just yet.”

Jemma glanced back at Fitz who had dropped his head onto his hands.

As if he sensed her eyes on him, he started muttering his confession. “At least if it were May instead of Skye, I might have gotten away with it. May doesn’t talk. Skye most definitely does.” He looked up briefly. “When she’s not sucking face with Trip that is.”

Skye broke away from Trip to briefly punch Fitz in the arm and then resumed kissing.

Jemma felt utterly confused. “Gotten away with what?”

Fitz was hiding again. “I lied about Trip. As you can tell, he’s sharp as a tack.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped open, the implications raining down on her.

“There’s nothing wrong with our postie. _I_ stole your journals and stuck mine in your mailbox. And every night I wait for about forty-five minutes eating kebabs in _Advanced Souvlaki_ and then I chew through a whole pack of extra-mint gum and go back outside to wait on my bike until I see your bus coming.”

“What about tonight?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he nodded forlornly. “We _did_ buy the tickets that first week I moved in. Trip mentioned Gregory Porter was coming and I realised that’s who I’d been hearing through the ceiling all week. I’d asked Jill in Number Four if you had a boyfriend and she was pretty sure that you didn’t.”

“That was three months ago,” Jemma replied, half-miffed at know-it-all-but-keep-it-to-herself Jill, whom she only occasionally passed in the building’s communal laundry, and half-astounded by the truths Fitz was revealing. “How did you know I was still single this afternoon?”

“I _asked_ you, remember?”

And Jemma recalled doing exactly the same to him.

Fitz looked up, his expression sheepish. “Like they said, I was supposed to ask you out ages ago. My mum even half planned her visit last weekend in anticipation of meeting this soup-bringing angel I’d been telling her about. You know it took me a full fortnight to forgive myself for not inviting you in to eat that soup with me? I was literally sighing out loud and dropping my head into my hands in the middle of meetings at work every time I thought about it.”

“So, that oh-so-casual ‘shall I pop up and have tea with you’ from this afternoon?” Jemma asked archly. “Where did that come from?”

“Pure desperation,” Fitz admitted glumly.

“And the fact that I was desperate too?”

Fitz shrugged. “Without that, I probably never would have found the courage to ask you.”

“You seemed so _cocky_ ,” Jemma said disbelievingly.

Fitz snorted. “The opposite thereof. I’d even bought my new suit and ordered the flowers in the hope that it would spur me on,” he went on lamely. “Imagine me at home throwing darts at my lapels and taking the odd bite out of the peonies. I guess you’d probably have preferred me quietly doing that to actually having to find out that your downstairs neighbour is a creepy obsessive stalker type.” He paused, a horrified look on his face. “Oh, _God_ ,” he moaned dramatically. “I’m no better than frigging _Ward_.”

Jemma smiled to herself. “Well, I can’t comment on Ward, given that you seem to be quite familiar with his failings and he’s a total stranger to me, but don’t you remember the predicament that I got _myself_ into earlier today?”

Fitz shook his head without raising it from where it rested on his arms.

She leaned over to whisper into his ear. “Fitz, a school student asked me if I had a boyfriend and instead of telling the truth, I lied so as not to feel silly in front of a sixteen year old girl and named _you_. Does that sound like the behaviour of someone who is in a position to judge?”

He turned his head to look at her, eyes hopeful.

“Besides,” she went on smiling, “I’ve never been kissed the way you were kissing me in the cab earlier. I’m sure I’ve heard that in extreme cases, mind-blowing kisses like that _can_ result in memory loss.”

She caught a glimpse of that ever-so-attractive smirk returning.

“Really?” Fitz whispered, raising his head off the table. “You could even overlook my attempt to make my best mate out to be a mental case?”

“Well, it was ambitious, but it _was_ worth a try,” she laughed. “And the fact that you’ve just admitted to obsessing about me these last three months makes _me_ feel better about the fact that I’ve been obsessing about _you_ ever since you opened your front door to me that night we were snowed in. You were so ridiculously grateful and your eyes are so ridiculously blue, I’ve barely managed to think about anything else.”

Fitz’s cocky grin returned full force as he raised himself up in his chair and pretended to yawn and stretch so that he could drop one arm around her shoulders. “Oh, really?” he asked. “So that whole ‘honesty is the best policy’ line we’ve been spun our whole lives?”

Jemma shrugged. “I don’t know. The elaborate lies might have given us an only-just-plausible excuse to snog for the week…”

“Ah,” he nodded sagely. “I _was_ going to struggle to keep coming up with believable scenarios.”

“I would have helped you along as much as I could,” she chuckled. “I mean ‘live-music venue kisses’?”

They both collapsed into giggles until Fitz’s expression grew earnest, retaining a degree of uncertainty that Jemma knew her confession should have utterly cancelled out.

“But given that I’m interested in securing indefinite snogging rights?” he asked tentatively.

Had the wind changed? Was that it? Would she be left grinning like an idiot for the rest of her life?

“Probably good you came clean.”

“Right,” Fitz agreed. “So, just to be clear, the parents and infants teachers _were_ right about the honesty thing?”

“So it would seem,” Jemma replied. “And those indefinite snogging rights you were interested in?”

“Mmmm?” Fitz pulled her close but not quite close enough.

Jemma found herself momentarily drowning in the intensity of his blue gaze.

“Granted,” she whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the most enjoyable parts of writing this chapter was having notapepper’s words in my head. She said: “I hope Fitz's excuses for why they have to kiss right now just keep getting flimsier and flimsier.” :D
> 
> And now it seems there will have to be a fourth chapter to round this one up! Talk about getting out of hand…  
> If you want the soundtrack – the mentioned songs are from Gregory Porter’s albums “Be Good” and “Liquid Spirit” – if you’re into lyrical jazz you will NOT be disappointed!
> 
> AND If you’re a Jane Austen fan and you want to check out another looming FitzSimmons project of mine, I’m psyching myself up for my most massive undertaking yet – see my first chapter of “The Master and the Midwife” and PLEASE let me know if you’d be keen to read more.
> 
> Also, I haven’t forgotten “In Case Of Emergency, Break Glass” – I will get back to it soon!!!
> 
> Lastly, anyone seen the S3 teaser!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!? Indiana Fitz!? OH MY HEART!!!


	4. Epilogue

Seven days later, Rebecca clutched a fistful of bills and gazed wide-eyed at her exclusive circle of toadies and underlings.

“I cannot understand how so many of you believe her!” she tittered. “Ms Simmons is going to arrive alone with some flimsy excuse for where her _boyfriend_ had to be at the last minute and I am walking out of here rich!”

“Yeah,” Tate Johnson guffawed. “And then, when Hot Teacher’s defences are low, Greg’s gonna ask her out!”

He raised a hand to the tall pimply boy next to him who slapped it vigorously. “Hot teacher!”

“ _As if_ , Greg.” Nicole rolled her eyes in exasperation. “She’s clearly desperate but I don’t think even Ms Simmons would stoop _that_ low.”

“Hey guys!” A peppy voice broke into the clique. “Who's ready to help get the decorations up?”

“Coming, Sarah,” Rebecca called, pocketing the wad of cash and mentally planning which boutique she might drop it at the following morning.

“Okay!” Sarah enthused – they didn’t make her head cheerleader for nothing. “I need two people to lay out the candles and sprinkle glitter stars on the tables, I need four people up on ladders running the chiffon over and under the ceiling beams, I need about eight people to tie the big bows on the back of the chairs and then another two to stick the big stars all over the windows.”

“I call windows!” Nicole shouted, grabbing Rebecca’s hand and yanking her towards the pile of immaculately cut-out silver cardboard stars. Precariously balancing herself on the rickety step-ladder, Rebecca claimed the job of sticking, leaving Nicole on the floor to apply the loops of tape and pass them up to her.

As Rebecca leant against the glass, waiting for her friend to find the end of the roll of tape, she gazed absent-mindedly down at the ground below. The school was situated on a fairly quiet street so not much was happening to entertain her.

Nicole seemed to have wandered off to find someone to help so Rebecca was only too ready to pass the time by watching with interest as a well-built and attractive man cycled into view on the other side of the high wire fence that surrounded the school. He had already performed some sort of stylish half-dismount manoeuvre before he’d even brought the bike to a stop and he moved so elegantly in his fitted moleskins and pointy brown brogues that Rebecca found herself quite enamoured.

_Mmmm._

The man’s checked shirt-sleeves were rolled to the elbows and he wore a stylish leather satchel over one shoulder. Her eyes bored into him as he stood up from chaining his bike, running one long-fingered hand through his curls and fishing in his pocket for his phone with the other.

Rebecca struck a sultry pose on the step-ladder willing him to look up at her. There were a few hours left. She could always ditch Jason Langford. This guy was _way_ better looking.

At last, Nicole wandered back to the window, trying unsuccessfully to break the tape between her teeth.

“Nicky!” Rebecca hissed. “Come and check out this guy!”

He had his back to them now, talking on his phone, one hand resting high on his hip.

Nicole peered out the window to see what the fuss was all about. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that back view,” she observed, giggling.

He turned back towards them causing Nicole to gasp appreciatively at the eyes and bone structure on display, and the two girls watched as his attention was suddenly claimed by something or someone under the awning below them.

The man’s extremely handsome face softened into a dopey grin at whatever it was and he raised his arms slightly and slipped his fingers through the wire links of the fence, leaning intently forward.

Intrigued by what Rebecca and Nicole were staring at, a small crowd of sycophants had now gathered around the upstairs window, all the girls gasping at this lanky and attractive man leaning nonchalantly against the school fence and grinning maddeningly at whoever it was he was talking to.

The gasping girls soon drew the boys who arrived at the window just in time to see the object of Handsome Cyclist’s affection step out from under the awning and walk across the lawn to meet him at the fence.

“Hot Teacher!” bellowed Greg Bacewicz. “Noooooooo!”

Ms Simmons linked her fingers through the fence in such a way that they tangled with the fingers of Handsome Cyclist. From two floors up, the crowd of onlookers couldn’t make out what was said but the spark between the pair was unmistakeable.

“Pay up, Becky!” Tate demanded. “That there has _got_ to be Engineer Leo Fitz. And he looks pretty real to me.”

Rebecca’s jaw dropped as she watched her Science teacher begin walking, one hand flat against the metal links of the fence, the hunk mirroring her movements, his hand against hers, gazing at her adoringly. She was leading him towards the school gate and closer to their upstairs vantage point.

“Nothing’s decided until we see them kiss!” Rebecca cried, shoving her hand in her pocket and clutching possessively at the bills she’d come to love like children. Children that she’d callously barter into slavery at the mall the next day.

But the minute Ms Simmons opened the gate to him, the handsome man pulled their Science teacher into his arms and kissed her in a manner completely inappropriate for the “Kiss-and-Ride” zone.

A whoop went up from those to whom the aspiring book-maker now owed money, so loud that it drew the attention of the couple beneath. They jumped apart, Ms Simmons scanning the building for the source of the outburst. Sighting half the outgoing senior class looking down at them from the window above, she flushed prettily, and pushed her gorgeous significant other across the lawn, back under the awning and out of sight.

Rebecca parcelled out the dollars she had and then resignedly borrowed Nicole’s purple glitter gel pen to write out the remaining number of humiliating IOUs on the back of silver cardboard stars.

 

* * *

 

“So, were the two nasty pieces of work up there?” Fitz asked, once he’d taken advantage of the awning and hello-ed her to his satisfaction.

Jemma nodded, grinning. “They looked _horrified_.”

“A job well done,” he laughed, and then his expression inexplicably turned anxious.

“Fitz?” Jemma asked, ducking her head to try and meet his lowered gaze. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’ve sort of served my purpose now, haven’t I?” he asked quietly. “The awkward favour? You’re not going to need me around anymore after this.”

She laughed out loud. “Well, I _am_ an independent, self-reliant, career-minded woman who don’t need no man.”

Fitz didn’t quite seem to see the humour.

Jemma let out an exasperated sigh. “Fitz! If I only needed you to prove myself in the eyes of a couple of bitchy school girls, why would I have also chosen to spend every single night this week with you?”

He raised his head and tentatively met her eye. “Practice?”

“Didn’t we agree that we pretty much nailed kissing on that first night?” she asked incredulously. “It’s been amazing enough for me to come back for several hours of it since.”

A slight smile played at the corner of Fitz’s lips. “I think it’s been at least a day’s worth, actually, if we were to tally it all up.”

“Right!” She nodded. “And I seem to recall you driving a pretty hard bargain that night, don’t you remember? In my head the kissing’s all been in keeping with our agreement.”

A relieved grin broke over Fitz’s face, utterly transforming his countenance. “Did, Jemma Simmons, the upstairs neighbour I’ve fantasised about for months, _really_ grant me indefinite snogging rights?”

“Absolutely,” Jemma replied, smiling warmly back.

“Brilliant,” he breathed, swooping in to exercise his newly reaffirmed privilege.

“When do we get to go upstairs and gross-out your students?” he asked, breathing hard against the soft skin under her ear some moments later.

“Not for a little while yet,” she replied, quite out of breath herself. “Shall we lock ourselves in my classroom for an hour or so?”

Fitz nodded vigorously, wide-eyed and momentarily rendered speechless as she tugged him across court-marked concrete and through long corridors wall-to-wall with lockers. She yanked him into her lab, slammed the door and pushed him up against it to passionately resume their previous activity.

He was in a lab. He was in a pristine school science lab, surrounded by shining glass and gas taps and hanging periodic table charts from the seventies. He was in a school science lab and the incredibly hot Ms Simmons had her tongue against his ear. This was the stuff his dreams were made of.

_That_ , however, was not.

“Wo! Wo, Jemma,” he intoned raspily, grasping her gently by the shoulders.

She proved quite difficult to derail from planting a searing line of kisses that was descending delightfully into the depths of his open collar.

“Simmons!” he cried, physically holding her back until her eyes refocused. He pointed wordlessly at the classroom window.

It didn’t take Jemma long to work out what was coming. She took a deep breath to centre herself, tucking the flyaway tresses that Fitz had pulled loose behind her ears as neatly as possible

Leering in at the window was the same bunch of students, now laughing and pointing through the glass, while theatrically pretending to stick cardboard silver stars.

“Fitz,” she began, her tone far too casual and off-hand for a teacher just caught by students enthusiastically making out with her boyfriend in her classroom.

“Yes, Jemma?” he replied, tucking in his shirt and doing up the couple of buttons that had somehow popped open.

“We’ve put in enough of an appearance for this evening’s graduation, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, umm, don’t you have, I don’t know, responsibilities?” he asked, wondering why on earth they would be there if she didn’t.

She turned back to look at him sheepishly. “As it happens, no I don’t.”

Fitz’s baffled expression asked the question for him.

“First year teachers are notorious for over-committing themselves, Fitz!” she cried. “This is why our burn-out rates are so high!”

He raised his open palms in surrender against the vehemence of her point.

She went on, suddenly regaining her calm. “The deputy principal told me that himself this very afternoon when he suggested I go home and begin my holidays early instead of staying for tonight’s graduation.”

He laughed helplessly. “So, if I’m off the hook for your awkward favour, is there anything else I can do for you instead?”

“Bottle of wine and a pizza?” she suggested. “And maybe a foot massage?”

Fitz grinned. “Your place or mine?”

Jemma steadily ignored the students cat-calling at the window and walked calmly to her desk to retrieve her belongings.

“ _Anywhere_ but here.”

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is folks! 
> 
> This little school fence scene was inspired by the characters Jeff Malene and Janey Glenn in a formative film of my childhood. If you know it, watch out! Your age is showing!  
> “Velcro. Next to the Walkman and tab it is the coolest invention of the 20th century.”
> 
> HUGE shout out to the multi-award winning author (sounds so cool, hey!? And oh so deserving!!!), recoveringrabbit, who cheered me on and beta-ed some earlier kissing and commiserated with me about the awfulness of writing kissing and was super nice and awesome (as is her M.O.) and just generally inspires me to want to be a better writer – which unfortunately has not kicked-in yet (gosh, I don't want to drag her down into the muck that is this silly thing when her things are so transcendent!) but will hopefully do so by the time I really get serious about tackling “The Master and the Midwife”. 
> 
> If you have not read her stuff, FIX THAT RIGHT NOW. “Murder By Mistake” will BLOW YOUR SOCKS OFF and everything else she’s written is pretty darn magnificent too!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear, this can only be the result of one of my own moments of weakness... A fluff explosion!
> 
> I suspect this will be Part One of a two-part story unless I find myself extra carried-away later in the week.
> 
> I haven't abandoned "In Case Of Emergency, Break Glass" or anything, I just found myself in an AU frame of mind. (Ha! As if ICOEBG isn't an AU! But you know what I mean...)
> 
> Love love love (as always!) to hear what you think!!!


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